your skin is something that i stir into my tea
by j. alfred prufrock
Summary: "Don't go falling in love with me," you joke one morning when you're a tangled heap of limbs and his face is mashed into your right arm.  Draco and Harry after the war, sorting out their feelings for one another, harryxdraco obviously ft narcissa malfoy


His hands keep turning into birds and  
>flying away from him. <em>Him being you.<em>  
>Yes. <em>Do you love yourself?<em> I don't have to  
>answer that. <em>It should matter.<em> He has a  
>body but it doesn't matter, clean sheets<br>on the bed but it doesn't matter.

(RICHARD SIKEN)

lend me your wings and teach me how to fly.  
>show me when it rains, the place you go to hide.<p>

(EMILIANA TORRINI)

* * *

><p>You say, sleepy and bemused; "Your eyes are so green."<p>

* * *

><p>He runs a hand up and down your back, resting a thumb on the knobs of your spine. "You've got so many ribs," he murmurs and to prove his point, he puts a finger between two of your ribs and raises his eyebrows at you.<p>

You shrug and you put your hand on his bony shoulder and squeeze.

You say, "You certainly didn't take after your cousin, did you?" and grin.

* * *

><p>No, wait.<p>

Try this again.

* * *

><p>He breaks your nose in the gardens of the Manor and relishes in the crack. You put your hands up to stop the bleeding and swear and stumble around, blinded by the pain and the feeling of being betrayed. You shout, "what was <em>that<em> for?" and it's muffled, coming out from behind your hands.

(Later, he will apologize, fix your nose and cradle you against him, wiping the blood from your face with a damp cloth. You will lie to your mother and say that you hurt yourself flying.

She won't believe you.)

He calls over his shoulder, "I should have done that when we were eleven" and you think about Hexing him when his back is turned.

Your hands are covered with dried mud, dried blood and you stuff them in your pockets.

He pulls out your right hand and laces your fingers together.

* * *

><p>Your mother likes to walk with him in the late afternoon. The sun glints off her blonde hair and he is taller than she is, just like you are taller than she is. She rests her hand on his shoulder and she looks so much like a mother and you smile.<p>

Your father comes up behind you and sighs, brow knitted and then he looks at you. He pats you on the back and you smile up at him. He smiles back, but he looks sad and you aren't sure why. "I still don't like that boy, you know," he reminds you as he turns to walk back into the Manor.

And you say, "I know."

* * *

><p>The grounds surrounding the Manor are large and he shoves you up against an oak tree and bites your collarbone, your neck, your shoulder and he knows – he <em>knows<em> - that this will leave marks and you think, "mother will see and she'll tell my father and he will be _furious_" but you don't say it out loud.

His hands rest on your hips and you kiss him back and give his hair a tug.

He murmurs, "I could cut myself on your collarbone," and you pull on his hair again, harder.

* * *

><p>You will walk together and time your steps together. He keeps his head down, eyes watching your feet. The grass is slippery under your heels and you crunch over leaves.<p>

You give him a shove and he slips a little and catches himself just in time.

* * *

><p>He makes a point of sucking a large, angry red mark into the pale skin of your neck and smirks when your mother's dark eyes linger on it for a moment.<p>

You kick him in the ankles under the table and bite down on his lower lip hard enough to draw blood that night.

* * *

><p>"Don't go falling in love with me," you joke one morning when you're a tangled heap of limbs and his face is mashed into your right arm.<p>

He sighs. Winds his fingers in your hair.

"I think it might be too late."

* * *

><p>He clings to you while he sleeps and sometimes you wake up with bruises on your arm from where his hand had grasped too tightly and you think that if you could fix him, you would. But you can't, so there's no use dwelling on it.<p>

He's not broken though, so you probably can't fix him.

Help, maybe, is a more appropriate word.

Which is funny, because you've never really helped anyone but yourself in your entire life.

He's changing you, you realize with a start one day, and maybe that's not a bad thing.

* * *

><p>"You're happier," Narcissa says as she pours you a cup of tea, just the two of you, and she sits so that she can see your face better, angling her knees and shoulders toward you.<p>

You just nod at her, non-committal.

"Your father and I are very happy for you," your mother says. A pause. "Well. I am, at least."

She catches your eye and you both smile, just a bit.

* * *

><p>He presses his face into your neck and you reach up and touch his hair with your fingers. "Go to sleep," you whisper and you can feel his eyelashes move against your skin when he closes his eyes.<p>

He never does what you tell him to.

* * *

><p>It's raining and everything's all gone a bit pear-shaped and you punch him in the face. Your knuckles crack against one of his cheekbones and his glasses go flying, falling onto the wet grass a few yards away from you.<p>

He looks at you in shock and then he kicks you in the shins, a weak move, but it catches you off-guard and you're pretty sure the skin breaks.

"Someday," he says, and his voice is low and nearly prophetic and you think he might be crying a little (or maybe that's the rain on his face, you can't be sure and besides, it's hard to see through your own tears), "Someday, I know you won't be able to lie so well anymore" and he storms off, picking up his glass and he doesn't even look at you as he disappears on the horizon.

And you? You know this too, and it scares you, and you know that when that time comes, it will hurt.

* * *

><p>He's asleep at his desk, head drooping and he's snoring a little, and you shake him awake. He blinks at you and looks ready to fight but you just put your hand over his.<p>

You say, "I'm sorry," and you can't meet his eye.

You squeeze his fingers.

He squeezes yours in return.

* * *

><p>end.<p> 


End file.
